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Odin had a vision of The Völva the night prior to today’s battle. He knew today was the day everything would end, when they’d finally win this seemingly endless war against the Jotnars. Hopefully, the last battle to the last war he would ever wage. The day when they’d finally win had come, and soon he would be able to hold his sweet Frigga and his brave little Thor again, all after having finally created a Realm in which his son could grow up in peace.
Despite that knowledge, Odin still went to battle troubled. The Völva never appeared to him only bearing good news, and last night had been no different. Today would be his last battle, yes, but also the day when his actions would decide the fate of his people. Of Asgard. Of his family. Today, he would meet a future threat to his Home Realm, an adversary of a kind he had never encountered before. One who one day would, should he fail to slay him today, mercilessly bring about the destruction of his kingdom, destroy everything Odin had fought to build, right after having torn everything Odin cared about away from him, all in an effort to avenge Jotunheim. The Völva was rarely ever wrong about anything… Weary as he was from all the war and slaughtering, he secretly hoped that just this once, she was.
Hope sparked in Odin upon nightfall, hours prior to now. The Jotnars finally gave up after a long day of bloodshed, and still no sign of his prophesized opponent. As he dismounted Sleipnir, he allowed himself to breathe for a few seconds for the first time since the sun arose that morning... Just as he set foot on the icy ground, he felt a pulse of raw energy hit him right in the back. Barely had he the time to turn around before he found a horned silhouette about the size of one of his own people lunging out of a damaged temple and towards him, screaming, spear held tight in his hands and pointed right at him. The only thought that had the time to cross his mind before the spear pierced his armour and flesh was how he’d never heard such rage and despair in a single scream before.
The pain of the weapon going through his chest barely had the time to register before it left as abruptly as it had arrived, and instead of the figure, there The Völva stood in front of him. The world around them came to a stop as his hands flew to where he’d just been stabbed moments before, leaving the both of them alone to talk.
“Who was this?” He asked, not daring to look away from where his wound should be. Her voice was as stern as ever when she explained:
“This was but a vision of one of the many futures that could await you, should you fail the task I have given you today.” He frowned. She continued: “It is in this fallen temple that you will find your foe. The one who will start Ragnarök. And it is only here and now that you can stop him.” Here and now. His hold on Gungnir tightened.
“Let’s go then.” He walked past her, inside the temple, barely listening to The Völva when she added:
“I don’t think you’re ready.” She appeared once again in front of him, keeping him from advancing any further: “You will be killing the son of someone of great importance, Allfather. Your foe will not be afraid of you and will not run away from you. It is as I said, I need you to understand: he is nothing like the enemies you have vanquished before.”
“Quiet, I know I’m ready.” He retorted, marching forward and straight through her, not letting her finish. As she evaporated to let him through, he heard her snap back:
“I know you’re not ready.”
The room he now stood in was spacious, colder than it was outside, and more importantly: empty.
“Were you wrong after all, Völva?” He inquired in the quiet of the room. She didn’t deign to answer such an insulting query. The Allfather was about to repeat himself when he caught a quiet cough coming from the very centre of the room. He tensed, holding himself in a fighting stance, ready for an attack: but no one came out of hiding. He stepped further into the chamber, slowly making his way towards the pedestal standing proudly in the middle of the temple, persuaded that whoever he was meant to defeat was hiding behind it. He was wrong.
He very nearly shocked, dropping his spear and his eyes widening upon landing on the small figure tucked in what now appeared to be some kind of basket that had been carelessly put down on the pedestal. The deep blue skin and half-lidded crimson red eyes left no place for doubt when it came to what was in this basket and yet, despite his best judgement, his uncovered fingers went to brush against the Jotun’s soft cheek… Cold, but not enough to freeze the skin. He’d never seen such a small and frail Frost Giant before… He couldn’t be anything but:
“It’s just an infant… He’s just a boy.” His eyes immediately searched the room for The Völva, “What sort of threat could he possibly pose that I could not avoid?” He jumped at the clear voice sounding right next to him:
“This is the runt son of none other than Jotunheim’s own king: Laufey. His father abandoned him here to die, but remember that if you do not end him yourself right now, he will survive this night and grow from this small boy to a powerful avenger. He will be consumed and blinded by his grief, hatred and fury. When he ultimately strikes, there will be no one to rescue you, your world or your family. You will have to say goodbye to those who you treasure most.” She reiterated, just as she’d warned him during their discussion the foregoing night. But… His eyes slid back to the small infant, now fully awake and gazing back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. Eyes that reminded him far too much of those he’d seen when first holding his son, back during simpler times. He barely even registered himself moving when he carefully lifted the boy in his arms, cradling him close to his chest, shielding him from Jotunheim’s biting cold, even if he was almost certain the babe did not need it.
“I could merely take him away from here- leave him to be raised by a noble family of Vanaheim. His past would never be known.” The seer shook her head, crossing her arms, her voice more gentle than usual as she explained to him as one would explain to a young child:
“He would find out eventually. The Norns would ensure it.”
“Fine in that case, I could raise him as my own.”
“You would only make it easier for him to accomplish his fate.” She countered, voice raising in outrage. Deep down, he was well aware she was right, and yet:
“Not necessarily! I don’t need to do this- He could be raised as a prince of Asgard, he would be happy- he would be part of our family. He would grow to love our people! What reason would he have then to want to bring Asgard to its downfall?” It sounded naïve, even to his own ears. Pathetic, coming from the King of Asgard... But right now, he didn't know what else to say. He would find a better solution later- he had to. He fell to his knees, at The Völva's feet, holding the child even nearer to his heart, only loosening his grip when the little one whined in discomfort. This child… It was only a child, surely the Norns would not be cruel enough to have him slaughter such an innocent being?
“I don’t need to do this.” He whispered, voice breaking. The Völva was now staring down at him with what could be perceived as a disturbing combination of revulsion and pity marring her face. After studying him for far too long, she sighed:
“Remember that this is a choice you have made, Odin Borson. Remember that I forewarned you, and remember that the blood this child will spill someday will be on your own hands.” She murmured before fading away into nothing.
He wavered.
He knew he was not making the right choice- he knew what he should be doing, knew that Gungnir was mere inches away from him and that he could make it painless for the newborn… And yet he could not bring himself to pick up his spear. He was being weak...
But he would find a solution. He always did. The child would be okay, and he would not bring about the end of Asgard, Odin would do the best he could to ensure it. He would.
When he looked back down at the boy, what had been blue skin mere minutes ago was now pink, and previously red eyes, now green, were staring into his blue ones. For the first time, the boy was smiling up at him, cooing. Not for the first time that day, he prayed to the Norns that The Völva was wrong.
I beg of you, Norns, just let her be mistaken. Just this once.